If all the worldShould in a fit of temperance feed on pulse,Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze,The All-giver would be unthankd, would be unpraised;Not half his riches known, and yet despised;And we should serve him as a grudging master,As a penurious niggard of his wealth;And live like natures bastards, not her sons.Milton.Comus.